


Rebound

by TheSmellOfDustAfterRain



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Dies, Everybody Lives, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Magic, Most of these tags only apply to the first two chapters, Not Really Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Self-Harming John, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sibling Bonding, Slow To Update, Temporary Character Death, War, also, but not in a bad way, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmellOfDustAfterRain/pseuds/TheSmellOfDustAfterRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time John died, he was five years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time John Died

The first time John died, he was five years old.

He had been playing with his sister Harry (he never called her Harriet after this) by the stream that ran in the woods behind their house. Harry was nine and already died four times, so she was fairly sure that if she hit John over the head with a rock for calling her Harriet he would live. It wasn't the rock that killed him though; it merely knocked him unconscious and he drown in the shallow water flowing past.

* * *

 

He woke up, twelve hours in the past, at two in the morning confused and a little bit scared. He went out to the living and found his Da in his underwear watching the telly. He told him that he had died and Da got a weird, angry look on his face.

"Go talk to your Mum," he said, stiffly and went back his can of beer.

John crept into his parent's room and crawled up next to his Mum, gently shaking her awake.

"Johnny," she said sleepily, "what is it? Did you have a bad dream?"

John nodded his head because it had to be a dream. You can't just un-die.

"What was it?"

"I was playing with Harry and she hit me in the head with a rock and I fell in the stream then everything got dark and then I woke up."

"Oh my baby boy," his Mum sighed, and John couldn't tell if she was sad or relieved. "This happened in the woods?"

"Yeah," John answered.

"You must not go to the woods today," she said, her voice full of fear and authority. "Do you understand me? For no reason do you go into the woods today." 

"Why?" John asked.

"Because you died, and you came back. But if you die like that again in twelve hours, you won't come back," Mum explained.

"I don't get it."

"I know honey. It's difficult to understand and you are so young. I'm also not a very good teacher," she admitted. "Harriet died three times after her first death, and almost completely the last time, before she understood."

She kissed John on the head and said, "But I will help you understand. Just promise me you won't go the woods today, okay?

"Okay Mum," John said, with a yawn. "We can stay in and bake cakes."  
"Okay baby," whispered. When John was completely asleep she kissed his head again, fearful of the next twelve hours.


	2. All's Fair in Med School and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out belong able to cut open your body without fear of dying, at least the first time, is a major advantage when one wants to be a surgeon.

It turns out belong able to cut open your body without fear of dying, at least the first time, is a major advantage when one wants to be a surgeon. John's self-dissection helped him get get high marks in anatomy. He also learned very quickly where to and to not cut, how quickly someone will bleed out when a vein or artery is nicked, and how to make sure he is never, ever interuppted.

It happened only once, his first time. He's been study the muscles of the arm when the thought that he could get a first-hand look at them came to him. He locked his dorm room door and found an X-acto knife of his roommate. As he pressed the knife to his skin, he was overcome with a memory of The Night.

His father had always drunk, but when John was around ten and Harry was fourteen, it became out of hand. After Harry came out, he would drink more and more, and he and Harry would get into it. Words and punches were thrown. His mum tried to stop him, but if she got in the way he would just hit her too. This went one for a couple of years. Harry never said anything, but John knew she was depressed. Then came The Night.

John remembered waking up from dreaming he had found Harry dead, and like he had died and Rebounded. He knew he hadn't, so he brushed it off. But, he felt terible all day long. Then something made him go check on his sister. She had a box cutter pressed to her wrist; she looked as she did in his dream. In that moment, he knew. He smacked the weapon away and pulled her to his chest. She was sobbing, "I can't Johnny. I can't keep on like this."

John was struck mute. He just sat there, a twelve-year-old, rocking his weeping, sixteen-year-old sister in his arms. When he told his mum what had happened as they sat in the waiting room she explained, in hushed tones, that he had Bonded to Harry. She told him that a Bond happened between two people who care deeply for each other, like a husband and wife or a sister and brother. It meant that whenever something happened to the person your were bonded with you would Rebound to save them.

"Are you and da Bonded?" John asked.

She looked sad, but nodded.

"How many times?"

"Too many, recently."

"Do you still love him?"

She didn't reply.

John wasn't surprised when just two months later his father was dead.

 

Back in the present, John shock his head. He wasn't his sister, he wasn't doing this because he wanted to die. He was just using what he had available to study and, though he wouldn't admit this consciously, he was a little morbidly curious.

He pressed and dragged the the blade along the length of his forearm. The pain was biting, but not unbearable. He made careful cuts like he would on a cadaver. That's when he heard the lock clock. His roommate came in, saw john, and a terrified, confused looked crossed his face. He jumped for the blade, as John had done those years ago, but John was quicker. Acting on adrenalin, he did the only logical thing; he cut deep and bled out.

 

When he Rebounded, he threw away the knife, panting. The next day, he requested to change rooms. There was now way for his roommate to know what had happened, but John couldn't face him after seeing his expression of horror.

He passed the rest of school without incident. He Rebound often: self-dissection, poisoning, overdose, hanging, drowning. He became a walking encyclopedia of ways to die. The only way he hadn't was by gun.

 

In the Hell that  is war, John's skill set was at its most useful. His squadron said he was paranoid, but his 'hunches' were always right. The first time they laughed him off, but after they checked the caravan vehicles "just to be safe" and found that his fear was not unfounded they didn't dismiss him. He was their lucky charm, 'predicting' car bombs, traps, and middle-of-the-night attacks. John would either die in the fighting or he would intentionally Rebound to get those precious hours to save his men, his friends. But, eventually, his luck ran out.

The heat was unbearable. The sun-scorched air ripped the moisture right from their mouths'. The patrol was tense. Well, they were always tense when they were out, but this was different. It was deathly silent. Suddenly, the sand was flying and men were dropping. John sprang to action to help those who needed it in case he was not able to Rebound and prevent this. As he crawled over to a bleeding friend he felt a bullet burn through his shoulder.

The pain! The pain was too much. John's last thoughts before the world went dark were, "Please God, let me die."


	3. Tick... Tick... Tick...

John was unconscious for almost three days. Five of his eight squad members were dead. John wished he were dead, actually dead.

He was sent back to England for rehabilitation. When it became obvious that he would not recover completely, he was honorably discharged. He still wished he were dead.

Time seemed to pass in broken seconds.

Tick: He’d buy food and not eat it.

Tick: He’d go to therapy and not talk.

Tick: He’d survive one day and not live it. The day came where he had enough.

Tick: Tonight(tomorrow), he thought. He had his service gun tucked beneath his laptop. Not the gun, he thought.

Tick: He found a well-used scalpel.

 

He was just going to spend the day in his room, but it had slipped his mind that he had an appointment with his therapist today(yesterday). He was halfway to her office when he remembered what he was planning to do, and it wasn’t worth it. He cut through a park on his way back to his tomb.

Tick: “John,” someone said. He didn’t stop. “John Watson,” this time he did stop. He turned to face an overweight man. Mike suggested they get a coffee, and John had no reason to deny him.

Tick: “Who’d want me for a flatmate?”

Tick: Chuckle.

Tick: “What?”

Tick: “You’re the second person to say that to me today?”

Time sputtered forward.

Tock: “Who was the first?”

 

The labs were different from when John was student, but his feet still knew the path they were taking. A dark-haired student was sat at a microscope. He asked to borrow Mike’s phone, but he didn’t have it on him. John offered his.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” the young man asked.

He striped John of (most of) his secrets. He threw out an address, when to meet, and his name.

John felt something click into place.

He went back to his bedsit. His scalpel was sitting next to his laptop.

He sat for a moment, thinking, then tucked the knife away.


End file.
